


wraithberry

by reylotrashpiler (Hosnianprime)



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, Cardan pain train, Cardan regrets everything and nothing, POV Cardan Greenbriar, POV Third Person, inner monologue, there is nothing in this but angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosnianprime/pseuds/reylotrashpiler
Summary: He is king. High King, for now undisputed and feared.But without Jude by his side, everything feels meaningless, empty and more dangerous.Cardan was not much concerned about being naked in his life. In revelries, he jumped headfirst into whatever pleasure he could find. Even among faeries, he knew he was desirable. Mortals in the other world lost their mind at a flick of his eye and the fair not-so-maiden maidens of the Folk never thought twice to abide by his wishes.Without Jude, he feels naked in a wrong kind of way.Vulnerable.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	wraithberry

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent fic of Cardan's musings.   
Unbeta'd.

Cardan lies awake in his bed when the sun rises, staring at the golden embroidery on the ruby red velvet of the canopy above him. He hears birds chirp as they wake; by now he has learned the rhythm of the daylight. 

Two weeks and still he can't sleep. His hands are clasped on his stomach and he waits for the time to pass, to be acceptably late for him in the day so most of the Palace is asleep and he can sneak into the wine cellar and retrieve some bottles. 

It is not the visit to the wine cellar he wants to conceal though. Everybody knows he is a bit weak for alcohol. 

He hopes nobody knows to what extent he is weak for Jude. 

He mentally traces his steps from the cellar to her chamber. The door is locked from the outside, barred from the inside, but there is a secret passage in the wall he discovered a week after he exiled her. 

When her scent faded from his sheets, Cardan felt as if he would suffocate. He knew he was bringing about his own misery when he meted out his judgment. Yet. He had to do it. For Jude's safety, to secure his own reputation. 

So. He goes to the cellar and retrieves a bottle, then strolls, with slow, lazy steps to her room. He makes himself wait. 

_ That which is scarce is the sweetest. _

Jude has never been so sweet to him than she is now. 

He opens the hidden door and steps out from behind the mirror. He smiles to himself ruefully every time. How fitting that she didn't find the secret path behind the full-length mirror in a world where appearances are everything. She never glanced its way. 

Jude cares little for appearances. Not for clothes, at least. 

The sun is high in the sky by then and dust stirs, illuminated by the sun rays piercing through the heavy curtains.

He stands there, for minutes, which feel like hours. Cardan has never been a patient creature. But he makes himself wait. 

Lets his eyes wander around the room, noting the disarray of things as if he saw them the first time. The vials with potions. The dark clothes in her open wardrobe. The various daggers and knives Jude chose to wear for jewelry.

The wine should be sweet but is ash in his mouth. Still, he drinks, resolutely, just like Jude poisoned herself every day. If only there was a way for him to develop immunity to the ache he feels one bottle at a time. 

Then, he would step inside. Run his fingers through her clothes, relishing how her scent becomes stronger and stronger as the fabrics release their aroma. 

He is heady with it. 

Bottle halfway empty, he waltzes to the bed. There is a crease where she last lay; older than the one in his bed, the last time he could kiss her and wrap her in his arms. 

It is folly to marry a mortal, let alone love them. Their lives are too short for a faerie, and it passes in the blink of the eye. Yet not short enough to not grow attached. He doesn't know how he will survive knowing that Jude is no more. Dust from dust. 

He isn't sure he can survive her absence even now that he knows she is alive. 

Slowly, he curls himself around her shape, pressing his nose in her sheets and inhaling her scent.

The bottle is almost empty and he feels the welcome dizziness in his head. 

_ Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude,Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. _

It is folly to marry and love a mortal. It is madness to deprive himself of the short time they could have together. 

But Cardan has never been a particularly tactful creature either. He is surprised that he pulled off the stunt with the Undersea. 

He is king. High King, for now undisputed and feared. 

Without Jude by his side, everything feels meaningless, empty and more dangerous. 

Cardan was not much concerned about being naked in his life. In revelries, he jumped headfirst into whatever pleasure he could find. Even among faeries, he knew he was desirable. Mortals in the other world lost their mind at a flick of his eye and the fair not-so-maiden maidens of the Folk never thought twice to abide by his wishes. 

Without Jude, he feels naked in a wrong kind of way. 

Vulnerable. 

He drains the bottle and places it on the other side of the bed, next to the others. Ten bottles. Ten sleepless days. 

His eyes drift closed. He sees Jude. Touches her auburn hair, thick and untamed, and wraps them out of the little horns she wears to appear more faerie-like. He kisses her, until the gasps for air and pulls his hair to get closer to him, until her body invites his to join hers. The swell of her hips, her breasts beneath his hands is as deadly delirious as wraithberry.

His little wraithberry. His personal poison. 

There is no antidote, no cure against her. 

"Jude, Jude, Jude. You'll be the death of me," he murmurs in his haze to the empty room. 

Jude doesn't argue. She can't. It's maybe what pains him most. 

He pulls her sheets over him, burrowing deeper. Soon his scent will ruin hers. Soon, the blend he now inhales will be only his. 

Cardan sighs. 

How ironic that he can create islands with a wave of his hand, and only ruin that which is important. 

He should hate her, or - the very least - hate _ wanting her _ but he can't find the strength. He needs it all not to pardon her, not to go and get her from the mortal world and make her his queen officially. Wipe off the cruel laughter from everyone's face. Make them fear her. 

Jude. Jude is a cheater. A liar. A killer. A killer of his own brother. Faerier than a faerie. 

Cardan smiles stupidly into the daylight. 

His heart burns, his eyes sting. 

_"My wraithberry,"_ he mumbles, giddy with his own wit. 

And, because he can't lie, he adds, 

"I love you."

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hiii what am I doing posting a Jurdan fic every day but never mind.   
let me know how this flew!


End file.
